” “Two words only,” Hill repeated. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. She hunted the markets for bread and treats so they could feast during the day. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. Yes, I can readily believe it. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. .
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